For Care's Sake
by halbarath
Summary: Hermione's reaction over the last event in HBP. How does she respond to the others' grief? HBP spoiler. HGSS short story.
1. Chapter 1

_**For Care's sake**_

_**A/N:** I do not claim any property on this: all characters have been invented by J.K Rowlings and should be restored to her. I nonetheless enjoyed playing with them. _

_**A/N:** This is the first fiction I post. Please, feel free to say what you think of it. I'm French so any comment on my English is welcome. If there's something that sounds strange, please, say it. I'd be most obliged to change my sentence. _

She sat by the fire, trying to find some warmth. She had isolated herself, preferring to brood and mourn alone. The tension and grief was weighing her down, along with the fact she couldn't cope with the Headmaster's death. They have all moved into the new Headquarters since the fiasco of June because nobody really wanted to stay in Hogwarts. It was far too surreal.

The grief was unbearable and the feeling of loss permeated everything. The Order's members tried to comfort each other lest they broke apart. Gathered or cuddled together, they shared the poor warmth they had in an attempt to get on, to salvage what they could from the wreckage.

Her thoughts wandered by their own volition, passing on the grief coming along Dumbledore's death, the Weasley's pain over the recent events that had befallen their family. Not only Bill had suffered greatly but Percy was still mute, despite what had happened to his brother. Harry and Ginny were both clearly in pain over their split up but she wouldn't go against his wishes and he was far too difficult to reach since the Headmaster's death. Her musing went to her former teacher in a desperate but persistent attempt to understand, hoping she had overlooked something, anything. Anger battled with grief within herself, neither winning nor subsiding, since both had a firm ground to stand on.

The man had frightened the wits out of her more than once, yet she couldn't accept the reality. She had always been sure there was more to him than meets the eye. She trusted Dumbledore who in turn trusted Snape. There had to be a very strong bond between them. She had thought of an Unbreakable Vow but abandoned it quickly. It would have killed him too. And, why hadn't he killed Harry if he really was that evil? After all, nothing could be salvaged as a spy in the Order so, why not do his master's wishes and kill the boy? Harry was no match for their teacher and they all knew it. Why had he just disarmed and incapacitated Harry? But the look on the Order members' faces upon the news of Snape's curse on Dumbledore was unexpected and unwelcome. If all this had been part of a greater scheme, they have apparently not been in. And how could it work if nobody know it was a plan?

He had frightened her because of the darkness surrounding him. He was foreboding, menacing, even dangerous. But while her fellows distrusted him, she hadn't, keeping faith in her Headmaster's judgement.

When they had called him names, she had stuck to a proper address, Sir or Professor, because if she never liked the man, she nonetheless was far too aware of the damage such behaviour could make.

Instead of hating him, she had respected him for his knowledge, even admiring him for it. She would never have admitted it to anyone but she could to herself.

When people had questioned his loyalties, she had merely kept to herself her sympathy. She couldn't even begin to guess what the man had been through. Whomever his loyalty went to, his life must have been devoid of any feelings and emotions, devoid of any warmth and respite from fear. No friend, no love, no trust. She couldn't phantom the bleakness of such a life, the despair and hopelessness.

She felt tears stinging her eyes and wiped them angrily, confused by the cause of her distress.

She pulled her cloak tighter around her, trying to find some reassurance and comfort. She was having second thoughts, questioning and cursing her Gryffindor rashness as she stayed, undecided, in this cold street, alone and in the middle of the night.

She had left a letter, charmed to be read only by Mrs Weasley. She had thought Ron's mother would be the most likely to understand. After all those years, Molly was the most considerate and perceptive woman she had ever met.

Right now, however, she was alone, the Order thinking her asleep and perfectly safe in her bed. But she wasn't. She had silently cast an invisibility spell on her and sneaked out of the Headquarters, Apparating where nobody would hear the loud "pop".

Spinner's End. No wonder the man was gloomy. Once you've laid eyes on the place, you couldn't but shudder at the prospect of living there. She cast a spell, revealing the place to be empty but for one inhabitant. Taking the chance, she knocked. She was about to do it again when the door was jerked opened and she was roughly yanked inside.

"Who are you?" her former teacher hissed threateningly.

She stared wide-eyed at the man, unable to utter a single sound or voice a word, less to end the spell. She saw his pupils widen and a mix of emotions dance in the depths of his dark eyes. She noticed the dilatation of his nostrils, by anger, fear or surprise, she couldn't tell. She felt his ragged breath as he pinned her on the door, his body only inches from hers.

"Miss Granger?" he asked, knitting his eyebrows in confusion.

Now was her answer: either he had betrayed and she was dead. Or he hadn't.

She whined an acknowledgement, still unable to speak and even less with his arm pushing painfully against her windpipe. He suddenly let go of her and she managed a breath. She also ended the spell so that when she faced him again, he would be able to see her.

Past the shock, she looked around her, taking in her surroundings. The house was a mess but the man was beyond that. His home would have been qualified as perfectly neat and trim compared to its owner.

He had slumped back in an armchair and was obviously absent. He made no acknowledgement of her presence as she peered at him. His eyes were red from lack of sleep and circled by dark rings. His hair was hanging limply at the sides of his face, enhancing the whiteness of his skin. His cheeks were even hollower than usual. His always pristine clothing was torn and bloodied, his robes discarded carelessly on the floor. He was a wreck, a shadow of the man she had known.

She cleaned the mess with a flick of her wand, willing the objects to move back to their intended location and ordering the room to arrange itself into a decent living.

She went into the kitchen and put a kettle on the boil, the hissing sound somehow calming her. She come back with two mugs of black strong tea and knelt before him. He was still oblivious to her presence. She then noticed his wand: instead of the expected place near him, he had thrown it far away from him, as if refusing to come in any contact with it. She frowned. A wizard never discards his wand, all the more so when all the wizarding world wants your death. Not saying a wand is an extension of the inner magic of its owner, a kind of faithful companion.

She looked at him more carefully. He was covered in blood but she saw no outward wounds. He might be hurt but she couldn't tell with all his clothes and she wasn't a Mediwitch either, even if she had learnt some healing spells, just in case. What was obvious on the contrary, was his emotional shock and anguish. Sympathy welled up in her heart but she dared not moved lest she startled him. She suspected him to have spent the last week or so in this armchair, oblivious of the rest of the world, casting aside any care for his own safety.

No wonder he was so apathetic. She had been mourning too but at least, she could share her grief. However sad people were, it was still some comfort not to be alone. Being able to speak about it or just to share the knowledge was helping.

He has been alone, truly alone, one side celebrating, the other cursing him as the cause of their sorrow. Nobody has imagined a second he might not have been willing to kill Dumbledore. Not only did he mourn alone, but he had to live with the fact **he** killed him.

Emboldened by his lack of reaction and prompted by both care and an eagerness to help, she conjured up a wet but tepid cloth. She Evanescoed his upper robes, with a clear intention of tending to and nursing him. He suddenly became fully aware of her as she ran the cloth on his skin.

"What are you doing?" he snarled menacingly, grabbing her wrist in a painfully strong grasp.

"I needed to know if you were hurt but you're covered in blood," she murmured quickly, appalled by the lethality oozing from him.

"Sir? Sir, you're hurting me," she managed, more and more afraid.

She had known he was quick-tempered but, that, that was bordering madness. He was wavering from an abysmal lack of emotions to deadly intent.

"Does it mater?" he whispered, letting go and sagging into his armchair again.

She stared at him, dumbfounded. She had expected him to fight, to shout, to hiss. Merlin helps her, she was even prepared to die at his hand. But, **that**, that wasn't in her list of expectations and it distressed her even more, as well as her blatant inability to help.

She realised she had been running the cloth on him again, unconsciously. She healed some small cuts and turned her attention to his back, having managed to make him move by a gentle prodding. That he had complied only added to her worry. She winced and frowned: it was going to be much more work. She doubted he had taken care of his wounds. Yet, she mused, he would be dead if he hadn't: a Hippogriff makes far more damage than that.

"How did you recognise me?" she asked, both to satiate her curiosity and to help him out of his stasis. Seconds trickled into minutes and she was wondering if he had even heard her when he spoke.

"Your smell. I recognised your smell."

She blinked. Her smell? He knew her smell?

Not knowing what to do to ease his pain and comfort him, she raked her mind in search of a helping memory. She thought of the Order, how they were reacting, the Weasley, Ron, Harry. She did the only thing she could think of. She hugged him. She felt him tense, sensed all his muscles play under her as they prepared for a sudden move. He shoved her roughly away, so abruptly and with such force she fell back, hitting the armchair behind her and landing ungracefully in it.

"Why are you here? Who sent you?" he growled, his fists closed into balls.

"I thought you might need some help if you were on our side."

"What if I'm not?" he sneered nastily.

"I'd be dead," she answered tartly, more bold than she actually felt.

Silence fell and it began to play on her nerves after some times. He had returned to his state of catatonia and she felt him retreat farther and farther in a dark mental corner. She could almost picture the move and it was particularly unnerving.

"Sir?" she tried unsuccessfully.

She had no response to any vocal attempt so she took his hand. It was as unnoticed as the rest. Settling in front of him and bracing herself, she slapped him with all her might. Once, twice, thrice, before he grasped her wrist.

"Say something!" she yelled, exasperated and on edges. It was maddening.

"He's dead," he managed. "Dead, dead, dead."

He chanted it, over and over again, as if it could change anything. She stared at him, witnessing as he completely lost control. That last act might have cost him his sanity. So much for a traitor, she thought bitterly. Nobody in the Order was that affected. True enough, they hadn't performed the killing spell. But still. Seeing him like that was frightening. It had to stop.

She looked at him as he continued his mantra, rose shakily and went slowly to him. He must stop. Cupping one of his cheek, she bent down and kissed him gently. What prompted it, she never knew. Maybe the fact he was lying, helpless, his soul reaped open to her as his anguish threatened to overwhelmed this usually composed man.

She steeled herself in anticipation of a violent outburst but it never came. Kissing him again, she rubbed his back in small circles, trying to soothe him as best she could. She felt him broke down completely in her embrace. He will kill me when he recovers, she thought suddenly.

He was clutching at her, hanging on her as he would on dear life. She realised, shocked, he was weeping. The Headmaster must have meant far more to his heart than she had imagined for him to cry in her lap. It was so unseemly from the dreaded Potion Master, always in control of everything. But after all, Dumbledore was the closest thing to a friend and a father he had had all those years. He had been the only one who fully trusted him. And he had to kill him to be able to spy on Voldemort and protect Draco.

For that, he had sacrificed everything: his already tainted reputation, his colleagues, his home.

For that, he had to endure the others' spite and disgust, along with his own guilt and pain.

All on his own. He's just a man, she pleaded mentally, realising everything could not be expected from one man, however strong-willed an determined.

He sobbed uncontrollably against her for some time, as the strain on his emotions was let loose. His guilt and anguish poured forth, unleashed at long last, as well as all the loneliness and despair. All that has been carefully hidden and buried found a way out as, for once, they were unrestrained.

Her warm body and quiet comfort slowly led him out of the dark well he's fallen in, somewhat hiding from the horrifying reality. Her presence soothed him more than anything else. He was reluctant to let go of her but felt compelled to when he realised where his head so comfortably rested. Taking his hands off her waist, he put them down in his own lap, staring stubbornly at them, his hair hiding his face. He refused to meet her eyes and the pity he was sure to find there.

She took his chin in her hand, forcing him to look at her. Feeling him so helpless and desperate had moved her to an extent she didn't want to reflect upon right now. He needed her, and that was all that mattered.

"You're not alone," she sussurated with a wan smile.

"Why have you come?" he asked, his voice hoarse but gentle, surprised as he was by the care written on her face. Of all the reactions he had expected, care wasn't one of them. Hate, loathing, disgust, even pity, he could deal with. But care?

"Look for yourself" she offered genuinely, opening her mind to him in all innocence, as if it was natural.

He entered her mind kindly, almost with reverence. He has never done it with someone willing and wasn't quite sure of what to expect. He moved slowly into her mind, trying to find the relevant memories only.

He found trust but he needn't any memory to know she did. She had come here and allowed him a free and unlimited access to her mind and memories.

Instead of spite and pity, he discovered respect and sympathy for his pain.

She cared, she honestly cared for what would befall him, and she was eager to help and understand him. He was shocked by the force of her heart as she freely gave him her raw emotions.

He witnessed her dilemma while she was still in the headquarters, the hours she spent arguing and debating with herself. He felt her resolve tighten as she wrote the note for Mrs Weasley and the respect she held for the woman, completely trusting and valuing her opinion.

Alone. She had come alone, not even warning her friends. She had risked her own life for, what, consoling him? He pulled away from her mind, even more confused.

"Come," she said softly, taking him by the hand. "You need some sleep."

_A/N: nice day to all. _

7


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine, however strongly I wish it...

A/N: thanks to One Soul, my beta, for spotting any mistake.

**Chapter 2**

"Where's Hermione ?"

Everyone was sitting in the kitchen, having a rather chatty and loud breakfast. Harry and Ron's eyes were still heavy with sleep and their minds still hazy whereas Ginny was already very alert, having woken up earlier than the boys. Alone.

The twins were there too, happily debating what they should do next to improve their last experiment and were seemingly oblivious of the rest of the family. They had taken the habit of visiting the Burrow since all were present, minus Percy whose name was avoided as much as possible.

Bill and Fleur had disappeared, caught in the frenzy of last minute issues concerning their wedding.

All pairs of eyes turned towards Ginny then to the empty place where the bushy-haired girl usually sat. It was Molly who answered in her not-to-be-questioned tone, thus settling any queries or worries as well as protecting the girl.

"She's off running errands. And I think she mentioned her parents too."

She went back to her tidying, glaring at those of her children who hadn't cleaned up after they had finished.

"Yes Ron?" she asked her mumbling son.

"Nothing" he pouted grumpily, clearly unhappy about the girl's absence and the reasons invoked.

She looked around the table, taking in each and every one of hers as if to indelibly impress the picture in her mind, and she felt a pang of pain and regret when her eyes fell on the formerly usual place of Percy. And now, Hermione was gone too.

She knew the girl was doing something important or something she had deemed worth trying. If she didn't know her better, she would have thought she was putting herself at risk. Surely, she had gone for books, probably dark books in some disreputable place, or working out some theories about Dark Arts in which she wouldn't involve her friends, knowing it was hazardous. It made perfect sense that she would be cautious. She was a sensible witch; she would do what was necessary to be as careful as possible. Still, it would have been better if she had asked an Auror to help her. It would have been safer.

Her magical skills were impressive; how did she manage that much? She knew somehow that the girl was alright. And she was certain the young witch had charmed the parchment, not only so that she would be the only one able to find and read the note, but also to indicate to her she was ok. Well, for the moment, there were other matters that needed attention. Any questions would have to wait until the girl was safe back home.

The others shouldn't be too long now. They had much to discuss. It had been a good idea to move from headquarters to the Burrow, where the family could attend to their worries and duties. But now, they had to move each time they needed some privacy. She sighed. Of course, the boys would want to join the meeting and as they were of age, nobody would forbid or prevent it. Ginny on the other hand… Despite many yells, screams, crying and pleading, as her mother, she would still win the argument and sent Ginny off. But with the three others in, what secret could they hope to keep from her? She watched her girl, her only daughter and love glittered in her eyes.

She had become such a beautiful young woman. Despite her flaring temper, she was a caring person who tried both to have everyone's best interest at heart and to act accordingly. Her wild hair matched perfectly her untamed character.

However much she hoped for the opposite, Ginny would be a formidable asset in this war; as a witch and as a friend of the trio formed by Ron, Harry and Hermione. A trio which was fast becoming a quartet if she knew anything about them. She looked at them and frowned slightly. The tension was palpable and she could almost see their conflicting emotions hover and thunder over their heads. Ginny was clearly unhappy and at odds with Harry who himself seemed lost in his own world. His dark hair did nothing to alleviate his sombre mood and expression. As for Ron, the poor boy kept glancing at Hermione's empty chair as if she would suddenly appear shouting "April's Fool!". Ah teens…

The hearth suddenly flared green and Remus and Tonks were soon brushing soot and ashes from their robes. The youngest seemed animated by a new energy upon their arrival.

"Tonks!" Ginny's voice echoed before it was drowned under the boys' booming "Remus!"

Moody would soon be there with Kingsley and then, they would be able to leave. The Floo network worked a second time and soon, the kitchen was crowded with members of the Order, exchanging news or polite requests, passing mugs of steaming tea or coffee, depending on tastes. When all were settled and the chattering had died down her voice raised again, matron in her house, used to having to lower down and discipline a large number of people crowding the same small space.

"Children, the Order needs privacy; we have to leave you a moment." Harry and Ron looked at her questioningly while Ginny seemed more resigned. _Unusual_.

"No boys. I assure you, you will be welcomed next time but for now, I'm asking you to stay put. The Burrow isn't safe enough for you to stay here on your own and we must decide of where you'll be waiting."

"But Mum," Ron interrupted, "We've fought off Dementors and Death-Eaters before. Surely, we can stay here for an hour or two."

"Ron, the fact that you have tried your best to get yourself killed since your first year is irrelevant here. You're moving."

"Irrel―" he began, before shooting Harry a dark look and holding his ribcage. Apparently, he had been poked hard.

"Yes Harry, a suggestion?" she proposed, repressing the smile she could see on all the others' faces.

"Well, yes, I thought maybe we could wait for you at Grimmauld place. It's been checked and all, I mean."

Molly looked around her, scanning the adults' faces to get their opinion. Finally, she arrived at Moody who held her gaze a moment.

"Alright," she agreed. "Moody will accompany you there, just to make sure everything is alright. If it's ok, he'll come back at the Burrow. We'll meet you there later."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Oi mate! That was brilliant!" Ron sputtered once the three of them were alone in the squalid and sordid house.

"Well, we had to come here anyway, so…"

Harry shifted uneasily from a foot to the other, clearly unhappy to be where he was. Ginny stood apart from them, mute. Apparently, Ron would have to take charge this time. As if he was used to it… he sighed. It was easier when Harry led them; not to mention the fact that ordering Ginny was better left to others. He looked at his little sister and frowned. She wasn't herself since the break-up with Harry. He had thought she handled it rather well, she had seemed ok, but it was worsening with each passing day. She hadn't even complained when their mother had kept them away from the order meeting.

And now, Hermione was gone. He knew they were close and was almost sure Hermione would be the one Ginny would turn to if she wanted to talk. He felt slightly betrayed; she ought to have told them. She always did. There was something amiss but her mother would never tell him. Where was she? What was she doing? Researching, the logical part of his mind provided for him. But he was worried. She was a very good witch, one of the best, and they had survived some skirmishes with Death Eaters before, but still. If anything happened to her… He sighed again. Better not to think about it and to concentrate on the task at hand. It would be like a game of chess. He just had to choose which pawn to move first and in which direction.

Maybe they should work separately. It wasn't a great idea to isolate one of them but it wouldn't work if Harry and she stayed in the same room.

"Ginny, would you mind having a look at the library, see if there's anything that could help or do you prefer staying with us and talk to Kreacher?"

She looked up, pulled out of her musing by the soft voice of her brother. It was deeper than before. She liked it. She smiled oh-so-softly.

"Um, no, the library's ok."

"I'll check on you later, alright?"

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

There were all here. The whole second Order of the Phoenix, crammed into the Headmistress's office. McGonagall glanced at the sleeping portrait of Albus Dumbledore, heaved a sigh, got up and led them into a bigger room. They had much to talk about. All seemed grim and Albus' death had dealt a major blow to the Order. He had been the figure head and his tie with Fawkes had only highlighted that fact. Both had left an enormous void.

The meeting had begun and people exchanged news. Not that there was much or anything of importance. No attack, no disparition, no murder. Nothing. It was as if there were no war, no pain, and no worry. He looked around studying the members, wondering who would still be there the next month, the next year. Some of them seemed not to listen. Minerva had taken the lead but maybe some would want to oppose it. They couldn't afford any challenging of her authority or leadership. He hoped she knew he supported her.

"Minerva," he interrupted, holding her gaze and nodding imperceptibly so that only she would see it. "Maybe, we should call into question and agree about the new dispositions concerning the Order, before we move on onto other matters."

She watched him, understanding showing in her eyes as well as in the small smile she managed.

"As you may or may not know, Hogwarts will not reopen this year. If we decide that the Order is to be maintained, the Castle might be a good candidate for headquarters. Those two issues, however, cannot be solved before we have decided upon a leader. I have taken, until this moment, the interim. Now seems the best moment to discuss the future of the Order. Any suggestions?"

"A vote maybe?" a voice called out.

Every member wrote a name on a piece of parchment, folded it and sealed it. Once they were all done, Fleur collected them as had been previously agreed. She didn't belong to the Order and her membership was a matter amongst others. She Accioed all papers then charmed them to reveal the names written and to organise themselves. Minerva was declared leader, as expected, almost unanimously. No more than 3 or 4 persons voted for someone else. With the matter settled, they introduced Fleur who vowed loyalty and secrecy to the order.

Issues moved from the necessity to find a Headquarters and to ward it anew. It was agreed that Hogwarts would be a meeting point until they found better, and then only as a rallying or emergency one. Diggle and Jones offered to research new wards and Moody announced he would join them when they cast the spells.

He looked at his young fiancée. She was tired and her face was pale. Worry and lack of sleep had drawn dark rims under her usually sparkling eyes. The wedding planning was going well but both were concerned about all that could go amiss. Not the least of all was a growing fear that Death Eaters would turn up. Of course, it was such a joyful occasion; one of the few opportunities to rejoice and to build hopes that they would have during this whole damned war. It was very likely that Voldemort's followers would try to break in and ruin their marriage, thus effectively destroying all lasting hopes and dreams. They had changed the location and kept it secret. The Burrow would be the departing point from where they would use Portkeys. All the rest was agreed, prepared, and thought carefully through. He smiled and squeezed her hand a little, in an effort to reassure her. She was getting upset about it. At least, his family seemed to accept her better since last June battle.

His gaze moved to Remus. He would have to speak to him. Of course, their "dispositions" were different but he still retained some "special abilities" and a major souvenir from Greyback. He seemed worried and Tonks kept casting concerned glances to him. Something was troubling them to the utmost, which was a certainty. Maybe they had learnt something that they couldn't tell to the whole Order.

Let's wait and see…

After what seemed hours, the meeting was finally adjourned and people began to slowly make their way home, one by one until very few were still present, mostly his family. Remus went to Minerva, Tonks in tow, and for a moment, he seemed to look for the right words.

"Minerva, I will need to use the Shrieking Shack again now that, erm, I can't have any Wolfsbane."

"Of course."

His thoughts echoed Minerva's words. Of course. Now that Snape had shown his true colours, there were many Potions they would not have anymore as well as many spells. And of course, all matters concerning Dark Arts would be more difficult to deal with. Not to mention that they'd lost an important source of information. Well, was it such a loss? After all, any information from a spy was suspect. How reliable could it be? Sure, it had saved many lives but still, how many more had been lost?

How could he have? Albus had seemed to have such trust and confidence in him. How could he have been so wrong? He sighed.

"Remus?" he asked the older wizard as he left the room. "Do you think I should come with you next full moon?"

Remus looked at him, seemingly lost in thoughts as he pondered the question.

"No, I don't think so. It might not be superfluous to keep you locked, just in case. We don't know the extent of the consequences for now but I don't think you'll transform. Just make sure your family is safe and able to tell what happens to you during the full moon."

He looked exhausted. New lines from worry had added to the already complex network on the face of the otherwise relatively young wizard.

"You know, Remus, we will find something. You have to keep faith; I'm sure a solution will be found."

The werewolf shook his head, sadly, all the resignation and the weight of his burden obvious in the gesture.

"Severus was the only one I know who would brew it properly, without delay and without charge."

"How could he have Remus?" he asked, sadness and regret clearly ringing in his voice. "You've known him for years. What happened?"

"If I knew Bill, the situation would be different. I never fully trusted him but I never thought he would do that either. But he's a fully trained Occlumens and a powerful wizard. He had apparently managed to fool Albus for 2 decades, why not us?"

"Maybe. Will you be here at the wedding?"


End file.
